


Money Problems

by SansyFresh



Series: Angst and Stuff [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Economic Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Money Anxiety, Panic Attacks, PuppyMoney, mention of past prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 12:20:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17601275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansyFresh/pseuds/SansyFresh
Summary: Cash should be used to this feeling. It shouldn't be sending him into a downward spiral like it is, making him feel like he's dying and shit. Fuck that.





	Money Problems

**Author's Note:**

> For maddieblay! I hope you enjoy it ^^
> 
>  
> 
> Please read the tags

The car door rattled as he slammed it shut, leaning back against the cool surface to try and ground himself through what was shaping up to be one hell of an attack. He hadn’t had one in a while, not after Slim had forced him to try therapy out and the doc had given him some meds for “General Anxiety Disorder”. Really there was probably more to it than that, what with how conditions had been underground, the shit he did to survive and all that, but the pills helped more than anything else had so he took them, one a day as prescribed.

Had he forgotten to take one that morning? Would he be this far deep if he had? Bygones, and all that, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be breathing like he’d been running if he had popped one. 

He had to get ahold of himself. Stable monsters didn’t come home from losing their job by having a fuckin’ panic attack, no matter how tight money had already been. He couldn’t let Slim see him like this, on the off chance today was one of the weekly checks the other performed to make sure he was still kicking. Was that today? He honest to god couldn’t remember, not with the way his thoughts were swirling around his skull like a whirlpool, not with his bones clacking together like branches in a thunderstorm, and damn all these metaphors weren’t making anything better it was all worse.

Pushing himself up and off the car where he’d been hunched, walking jerkily to his apartment door. He fiddled with the keys, almost dropping them twice before he finally got the stupid key in the damn hole, twisting the knob with sweaty hands that shook as he finally went inside. His apartment was a mess, the piles of clothes and papers and dishes irking him more than they ever had before and maybe that was some Papyrus coming out in him, stars know he never cared before.

He didn’t take off his jacket, didn’t kick off his shoes, just set about cleaning because if that plate stayed on the top of the tv one more stars damned second he would lose it. He was already losing it, really, slowly breaking down into tiny pieces that only stayed together by pure will, will that was all but shattering the longer he let his mind dwell on the problem.

Soon enough the living room and kitchen were spotless, shining, glistening, different synonyms for clean and still he was trembling, breathing like he would never get another breath. His sockets stung, unshed tears sitting at the edges waiting for him to finally break apart. He refused, he couldn’t break down, if he broke down he’d never get back up, he was falling, he was  _ dying _ , he was lost, falling down, down, into an unending abyss with no light...

And when he came back up, he was in the floor, wrapped up in Slim’s arms. The bastard was staring off into the unseeable distance, Cash curled up on top of him, the size difference only exaggerated when they were like this. He had half a mind to push himself up and off, maybe to go take a fucking nap; he was exhausted. Just as he started to move, however, Slim’s arms pulled him closer, almost subconsciously, and it was then that he felt the calming magic seeping off Slim, making the screaming panic he could still feel gnawing at his soul background noise at best.

He knew if he left, if he made Slim leave, it would return and he’d be back in that dark place. So, he stayed put. Maybe that made him more of a leech than he already was, maybe it didn’t. Either way, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, or whatever that human idiom was. He wasn’t about to lose this chance to feel safe, for once in his stars damned life.

The two of them stayed like that for a long time, until Slim finally seemed to notice he was awake.

“So what set it off?” Slim wasn’t one to mince words, when he spoke. Cash nearly winced, the reminder of what had started all this in the first place making the panic spike, only for it to be muffled by a fresh push of magic from Slim. He waited patiently for Cash to get his words together, to explain why he’d suddenly gone off the deep end.

Really, he wasn’t sure at all how to explain this without falling apart at the seams.

Better to start with the biggest first, he supposed. “I lost my job.”

Slim nodded. Cash ground his fangs, eyelights jerking around the dimly lit room. He’d been out of it for a while, if the light outside was this dark.

“Anything else?” Slim finally asked, unwilling to let him fall back into his worries. Cash both hated and loved him for it.

“I’ve been...low. On money. These past couple months.” The words felt like acid being spewed from his mouth, burning on the way out. Cash wished immediately he could take them back as Slim stiffened beneath him, but they were spoken, in the air between them like barbs.

“Have you even been eating?” Slim asked, his voice carefully neutral. Cash didn’t answer, squirming a little where he was laying on Slim’s chest. He felt it as Slim took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly, his arms tightening around Cash’s back.

“You’re coming to my apartment.” His tone left no room for any arguments Cash could have thought up, even if he wanted to. Somehow, the thought of not having to deal with this on his own like he had for years made it all seem… not easy, but maybe not as hard. Like he could actually survive this, with Slim’s help. Like he wouldn’t be back on the streets, getting on his knees to have enough food to eat.

“Okay.” 


End file.
